


Same Face, Different Software

by UniverseOnHerShoulders



Series: Prompt Fills [18]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Identity Swap, Post-Episode: s09e08 The Zygon Inversion, whouffaldi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-21
Updated: 2017-01-21
Packaged: 2018-09-19 00:22:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9409091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UniverseOnHerShoulders/pseuds/UniverseOnHerShoulders
Summary: Bonnie isn't entirely sure she likes Earth. Her colleagues are unwelcoming and unfriendly, and her only technical friend is someone she once tried to murder. Still, when she gets a call from Clara Oswald, Almost-Murder-Victim-101, she realises that sometimes you have to do favours for your friends. Even if that favour is pretending to be them, in order to deflect the suspicion of an overly well-intentioned Time Lord.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheSaddleman](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSaddleman/gifts).



> This one was a lot of fun, even if it did end up getting a bit gloomy. (Seriously though, Bonnie murdered a squadron of UNIT soldiers _and_ Jaq, working there would be a w k w a r d.) 
> 
> Anyway, this one is for [Alex](http://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSaddleman/pseuds/TheSaddleman), who prompted:  
>  _Twelve and Clara haven't yet made obvious their feelings for each other, but one day Clara wakes up feeling like death and can't go on the Wednesday outing with 12. She doesn't want him to worry about the fact she's got a cold, so she recruits Bonnie to pretend to be her and take her place. Problem is Bonnie didn't get the memo that Clara hasn't told the Doctor how she feels, but Bonnie assumes she has!_

Bonnie sighed, closing the programs she had open on her computer and shutting it down. As usual, she was the last person in the office, albeit only by sheer virtue of the fact that she seemed to have to work twice as hard as her colleagues to earn even half of the respect they commanded. Admittedly, her attempts to take over the world via the means of mass rebellion had probably coloured their perceptions of her – not to mention the fact she’d murdered their boss – but at least, she told herself, she was _trying._ Still, it seemed that no amounts of Starbucks runs or doughnuts could win over her colleagues, and so she had long ago resigned herself to a largely lonely existence, shuttling between work and her minimalist, work-provided flat twice a day under the cover of darkness. 

She picked up her phone and checked it for any incoming messages from her sister – by name, rather than by blood. Osgood was stationed in America at present, working on a mission that no one had bothered to tell Bonnie the details of, and which meant that she was devoid of anyone in the office who might sympathetic to her cause. She sighed again as she made her way downstairs, exiting the building and reflecting on whether her job here could be considered a reward or a punishment; it had seemed like a gift at first, but now she saw it for what it truly was: a gilded prison. As she stepped into the bitingly cold London night, she pulled her scarf up around her face and fought back tears at the thought of being trapped here for the rest of her life.

Engrossed as she was by her melancholy, the noise of her phone ringing startled her so much that she stumbled over her own feet, tripping and landing heavily on the cobbles outside the Tower, swearing as she fell. From her position on the ground, she fished the phone from her pocket and stared at the caller ID in confusion, before answering and putting the phone to her ear. 

“Hello?” she asked with trepidation, fully anticipating some kind of misplaced lecture on not working hard enough, or having allegedly masterminded some new dastardly scheme. 

“Hey!” croaked the voice at the other end of the phone, with a level of enthusiasm that Bonnie was unused to. People were generally less than thrilled to see her – her usual Starbucks barista aside – and thus she was appropriately wary about the caller’s zeal. “It’s Clara.” 

“I know, I have caller ID,” she replied in a far harsher tone than intended, and she cursed inwardly at her inadvertent prickliness. “Sorry. I didn’t… sorry. Hi, what’s up?” 

“I’ve got a problem and I need your help.” 

“Is this problem related to the fact your voice sounds weird?” 

“More or less, yeah…” Clara broke off to cough for several seconds, and Bonnie felt a mild sense of alarm about the human woman’s condition. “Look, I’m supposed to be seeing the Doctor tomorrow but I’ve got a filthy cold, and you know what he’s like-” 

“No, not really.” 

“Yeah, you do. Not keen on homicidal plans, worries about humans, particularly me.” 

“I noticed the former, yep.” 

“Well, if he knows I’m ill he’ll only worry about me, and the last time he tried to look after me when I was ill, he melted my kettle and nearly set the flat on fire. So, my request is just… borrowing you.”

“ _Borrowing_ me?” Bonnie repeated suspiciously. “I’m not an escort.”

“No, you’re not,” Clara concurred. “But you can look like me, and act like me, and think like me. And you’d get to go adventuring.” 

“What’s in it for me?” 

“The adventure.”

“Anything else?” 

“What else do you want?” 

 _People to like me,_ Bonnie thought for one brief moment, then dismissed the self-pitying thought. “Nothing, I guess,” she mumbled, throwing caution to the wind. “Yeah, OK. I’ll do it.” 

“You’re the best, and I owe you big time!” Clara enthused, before breaking off to cough again. “Can you be at mine for about four o’clock?” 

“Yeah, sure.” 

“See you then!” 

Clara hung up with a _click_ , and Bonnie looked down at her phone in consternation. This was potentially a terrible plan, but if there was one normal person on this planet who liked her enough to phone her up and ask favours of her, then she could live with that.

Then again, she was not entirely sure that Clara Oswald constituted _normal._

 

* * *

 

The next day at work, she felt horribly self-conscious getting up at three pm and leaving her desk. She was sure that her colleagues would start gossiping about her as soon as she left, namely the fact that she was leaving without the usual cover of darkness, but she found she didn’t care. As she waited for the bus to take her to Clara’s, she bounced from foot to foot to keep herself warm, pulling her sleeves down over her hands and cursing her decision to base herself in the UK, rather than one of the hot countries she saw on Instagram with depressing regularity.

By the time she knocked on Clara’s front door, she was chilled to the bone and red in the cheeks, each inhale aching with the coldness of the air. As the tiny human woman answered the door, a gust of warm air enveloped her, and she involuntarily sighed in relief.

“You look frozen!” Clara croaked, looking horrified and immediately reaching out to tug Bonnie inside and into the warmth. “Tea?” 

“Aren’t you ill?” Bonnie asked in stupefaction, dumbfounded that anyone would want to offer her tea, let alone someone who was unwell. 

“Yeah,” Clara rolled her eyes. “But I’m English, and we offer people tea come hell or high water.” 

“Oh,” Bonnie said, for want of anything else to add to the conversation. “Please.” 

“Milk? Sugar?” 

“Black.”

“Hardcore,” Clara said with respect, shuffling to the kitchen and switching on the kettle. “How was work?”

“Urm,” Bonnie stammered, thrown by the casual small-talk. “OK, I suppose.” 

“You look terrified,” Clara observed from the kitchen. “I mean, I can’t see you, but I’m imagining you do. Do people not normally… are people not normally nice to you?” 

“It’s fine,” Bonnie said quickly, following Clara’s voice into the kitchen so that she wouldn’t have to shout. “Honestly, it’s fine.” 

“It’s not fine though, is it?” Clara shot her a look that bordered dangerously close to pity. “God, people are dicks. You’re always welcome here.” 

“I tried to murder you.” 

“Yeah, and? Lots of people do that.” 

“You don’t make _them_ tea, I’m guessing.” 

“Bonnie, why is it so shocking that I’m nice to you?” 

The Zygon shrugged. 

“You were me, once,” Clara reminded her gently. “And you will be again in a few minutes. So, I know we understand each other. If you need me to come to UNIT and kick anyone’s arse, I can do that.” 

“Thanks,” Bonnie said after a moment, accepting the mug of tea Clara held out to her with a small smile. “So, my mission today is to be you?” 

“Indeed.” 

“Anything I need to know?” 

“Nope.” 

“Well then,” she set her mug down on the side and shifted forms with a practiced grace, wrinkling her nose at her abruptly lowered viewpoint on the world before picking up her tea again. “How’s that?”

“Could you be a bit more…” Clara chewed her lip, considering the question. “Northern?”

“As opposed to?”

“Talking like the Queen.”

“I can try, sure,” Bonnie promised, making a conscious effort to enunciate slightly less. “Better?” 

“Better,” Clara said with a grateful smile. “Now, I’m retreating to bed with Netflix, so if you wait in the lounge then I’m sure he’ll turn up soon. Probably. Have fun, OK?” 

“Will do. Feel better.” 

“Thanks.” Clara smiled again and then disappeared in the direction of her bedroom, leaving Bonnie alone in the kitchen. She took another sip of her tea and then emptied the mostly-full mug down the sink, going into the lounge and perching on the arm of the sofa apprehensively.  

This was almost certainly an awful idea. The Doctor would see right through her, and then he’d be cross at her and worried about Clara, and the entire thing would collapse around her ears. UNIT would fire her, because there was obviously some kind of unwritten rule that she was unaware of for Zygon employees about impersonating the Doctor’s companions and joyriding around the universe. 

Her panicked inner monologue was interrupted by the wheezing groan of the TARDIS materialising, and the prompt appearance of the Doctor, framed in the doors and backlit by the golden glow of the console room. 

“Clara!” he said, with genuine enthusiasm, and Bonnie felt a warm glow that was half-her, half-Clara’s learned response to his use of her name. She felt her heart soar, and consciously tried to dispel her pessimism in the face of his cheerful demeanour. “Ready?” 

“Ready,” she confirmed after a moment, getting to her feet and crossing the carpet to him, standing on tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. “Where to?”

“Are we doing kissing now?” he asked as she squeezed past him into the TARDIS, and she froze for half a second. “Is that a thing?” 

“Of course we’re doing kissing now,” she hummed, lying easily as she circled the console and ran her fingertips over the cool metal that held the controls. “Why wouldn’t we be?” 

“I’ve only just got used to the hugging.”

“Well, that was a process of attrition, wasn’t it? This can be, too.” 

“If you say so,” he smiled then, closing the doors behind him and returning to his usual place at the console. A thrill shot through Bonnie at the familiar feeling of having him by her side, and she felt her smile grow as she understood that this was where she – or Clara, it was impossible to tell which emotion was whose – was meant to be. “Where do you fancy?” 

“Somewhere…” she paused for a moment, weighing up the possibilities. All of space and all of time. “Somewhere amazing.” 

“How do seas made of pure, liquid diamond sound? And beaches made of crystallised platinum?”

“Sounds like a proposal,” she winked at him, half-amused and half-disconcerted by her playful banter with him. Was this what it was like to be human? Was this what it was like to be comfortable around someone, and be able to laugh and joke with them? “Are you proposing, space man?” 

The Doctor arched an eyebrow at her. “Proposing a trip, yes. Anything more than that… well, you know.”

“Do I?” 

“You’re being very coy today,” he noted drily, programming coordinates and disengaging the handbrake without looking at her. “Not to mention chirpy. You’re not usually this chirpy when you’ve had to teach Year Eleven.” 

“Well, they were being particularly… agreeable,” Bonnie lied, surprised by the ease with which she constructed this untruth. Clara really hadn’t been exaggerating – she was a brilliant liar. “And I’m happy to see you. You make my life much less mundane, which is generally advantageous all round.”

“That’s more like it,” he grinned, crossing to the doors once they’d landed and flinging them open with a flourish. “Ta-dah!”

“Wow,” Bonnie murmured, dazzled by the light refracting into the console room, and she took a couple of hesitant steps towards the unknown planet. “It’s… bright.” 

“That it is. Brighter than some of your students.” 

“Very funny,” she deadpanned, stepping outside and onto the curious, metallic sand which crunched under her feet. “This is bizarre.” 

“Not as bizarre as that planet with green skies.” 

“That wasn’t bizarre, that was mostly just…” she sifted through Clara’s memories hurriedly, trying to form an opinion on the matter. “A bit _Wizard of Oz._ ” 

He chuckled, following her onto the sand and placing his hands on her shoulders, turning her ninety degrees until she was facing the diamond sea. The contact was enough to take her breath away, and any doubts she might have had dissipated in that moment, as understanding crystallised in her mind’s eye.

“Wow,” she breathed again, for lack of a better expression of awe. “This is incredible. Thank you.” 

“What are you thanking me for?” he asked in light-hearted confusion, his face unreadable as he looked down at her. “Don’t go getting all weepy and emotional on me, I don’t deal with it well.” 

“I know,” Bonnie acquiesced, then added for posterity’s sake: “Just… thanks for the opportunity.” 

“You’re… welcome.” 

“It’s terribly romantic, so full marks on the date front.” 

“This isn’t a date,” he protested, arching an eyebrow in consternation. “I don’t do dates.” 

“Well, what were the Bank of Karabraxos or the Orient Express if not dates?” 

“Clara,” he said quietly, his use of the name reminding her of who she was with a jolt. “I’m not your boyfriend.” 

“Well, that’s just rude, all things considered.” 

“And what would _all things_ be, when they're at home?” he challenged, looking her up and down with a look of blind incomprehension that unsettled her.

“You know, so don’t act like you don’t.”

“Clara, I have no idea what the hell you’re talking about.” 

“You complete _arse,_ ” Bonnie rolled her eyes, frustrated by his refusal to discuss his feelings. Something in Clara’s memories was beginning to nag at her, but she pushed it aside, her anger overtaking her without warning. “Like you don’t know that I’m madly in love with you, and always have been. Like I haven’t told you.”

“You haven’t told me anything of the sort,” he frowned in puzzlement and placed a hand on her forehead to check her temperature, leaving it there until she smacked it away impatiently. “Are you drunk?”

“No!”

“High?”

Bonnie realised in that horrible instant that she had made a mistake. Clara Oswald – confident, self-assured Clara Oswald – had never told him, and so she had just put her foot in it spectacularly. She cursed herself for not taking more care to check Clara’s memories, then cursed Clara herself for being too stubborn to say the three little words that humans placed so much importance upon. She was lucky enough to have someone who cared about her and to have someone she adored, but she was too stubborn and shy to speak aloud the words that had lay between her and the Doctor, awkward and unsaid, for years.

In that instant, Bonnie hated Clara Oswald for having what she never would; for having what she never would and refusing to acknowledge it due to a blind, uncharacteristic lack of self-confidence. The sentiment was there and the bond between human and Time Lord was obvious even to an outsider, and yet Clara was unwilling to spoil anything for the sake of making her feelings towards the time traveller more blatant. She’d loved the Doctor from the first moment she saw him, but she had buried her feelings long ago and resigned herself to… well, whatever _this_ was. Resigned herself to second best.

Bonnie sighed and pushed her anger aside, knowing that salvaging this situation was going to take work – and then undoubtedly a return trip home that would cut short their exploits. It had been nice while it lasted, she supposed.

“Urm. Yes. Very high,” she lied, determined to defuse the situation. “So high.” 

“Clara!”

“I confiscated some… items, from a student. Wanted to verify that they were what I thought they were.” 

“You’re a terrible liar.” 

“Am not,” she snapped, then added: “I’m better than you.” 

“I don’t know what you mean,” he countered at once, turning a delicate shade of pink all the same. “I’ve not lied about anything.” 

“Yeah, sure, Mr ’I don’t do dates.’” 

“At least I’m not pretending to be someone I’m not,” he shot back, narrowing his eyes at her, and she knew in that instant that she was caught. “Echo, or Zygon?”

Bonnie groaned. “Zygon.”

“And Clara is…?” he went pale. “You’d better not have harmed her. If I find out you’ve touched a hair on her head, so help me-” 

“I haven’t harmed her!” Bonnie said with a scowl, hurt by the accusation. “She didn’t feel well, so I got talked into this, OK?” 

“So, she is…?”

“At home, resting.” 

“Good, that’s where we’ll be heading then.” 

“What gave it away?”

“You were too bouncy,” he said tartly, gesturing back towards the TARDIS and beginning to take long strides back towards the time machine, her jogging at his side to keep up. “And you didn’t pick me up on the comment about your students. Not to mention the whole ‘madly in love with me’ thing.” 

“Ah.” 

“Yeah, ah,” he followed her into the console room, closing the doors and leaning on them. “Out of interest though… is that her? Or you? I know you can access her memories, so don’t lie.” 

“That was…” she sighed, knowing that lying would do no good. “That was her. That _is_ her.” 

“Oh.” He went silent for several moments, processing the information. “And you?” 

“What about me?” 

“Are you… in love with anyone?” 

“If this is you making small talk, then no, I’m not. Everyone at UNIT hates me, I have no time for anything other than work, and I’d quite like to make my way off that godforsaken rock, but hey, I’m stuck there.” 

“Oh Bonnie,” he said, looking at her with pity in his eyes, and she felt her temper flare in response to the emotion. “I’m s-” 

“Don’t,” she snarled, taking a step away from him and clenching her fists, trying to breathe through the anger and regain control of her emotions. Once she felt calmer, she added in a more civil tone: “Just… don’t. OK?” 

He pulled the handbrake in silence, casting them into the vortex and averting his gaze from her. “You know, you could come with me. Sometimes. If you’d like. I don’t mind which form you use, just… it would be nice, for you, I think. And for me. To show the universe to someone new.”

“Really?” Bonnie asked, taken aback at his offer in the wake of her previous outburst of temper. 

“Really,” he confirmed as they landed, and they exchanged hesitant smiles. “Now. I have a poorly companion to look after, and I think I’m going to need your help.”


End file.
